Reunification Day
Fourth wing x reader
Xaden Riorson x sister!reader
On Reunification Day, Basgiath showed a completely different face.
From early in the morning, the fortress could be heard waking up. Cadets hurried through the corridors, soldiers carried out the equipment needed for the ceremony, and the flags had already been raised in the courtyard. A strange, festive excitement seemed to vibrate between the stone walls.
But (name) already knew that, for her, this would not be a celebration.
Six years had passed.
Six years since that day.
And yet it still felt as though it had happened only yesterday.
You didn't get enough sleep, little star.
Talmah's voice echoed deeply through the bond.
(name) lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
I slept.
Three hours and forty-two minutes does not count as sleep.
It does to me.
You're lying.
“Since when did you become an expert on sleep?”
Since I became the only sensible creature in this relationship.
(name) smiled despite herself.
You're very modest.
Modesty is overrated.
But the smile disappeared after a few moments.
Talmah sensed it.
He didn't ask.
He simply remained silent.
Eventually, (name)sat up in bed and stared at the window for a long time.
Outside, the morning mist was slowly lifting. The mountains surrounding Basgiath rose gray in the distance, while the first rays of the rising sun brushed across the fortress towers.
Do you know what day it is today?
She finally asked.
I know.
Six years.
I know.
(name) looked down at her hands.
Sometimes I feel like it was another life.
Because it was.
Everything was different back then.
You were different too, little star.
(name) smiled.
“At least you sound wise now.”
I have always been wise.
“Of course.”
Talmah seemed satisfied.
Go downstairs. Your squadmates are already waiting for you.
“I don't want to talk.”
You don't have to.
(name) looked up.
Just go be among them.
This time, she didn't argue.
She dressed, put on her rider's uniform, and left her room.
For the rest of the day, however, she barely spoke.
Not deliberately.
She simply didn't feel like it.
________________________________________________________________
At breakfast, Ridoc tried several times to draw her into the conversation.
“If there's nothing edible at the celebration tonight, I'm personally going to burn down the kitchens.”
Sawyer looked at him.
“You say that every time.”
“Because the food is terrible every time.”
“Last time you ate three portions of stew.”
“That was different.”
(name) only stared at her plate.
Rhiannon watched her from the side.
“You're really not going to say anything today?”
(name) looked up.
“I said something.”
Ridoc cut in with a grin.
“Yes. That.”
(name) gave him a faint smile, but that was all.
Later, her silence was noticeable on the training grounds as well.
She didn't laugh at Ridoc's stupid remarks.
She didn't talk back to Sawyer.
She didn't join in Rhiannon's conversation.
And after a while, Violet began watching her suspiciously.
“(name).”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you're all right?”
“Yes.”
“Because you've been acting like something…”
“Violet.”
The girl fell silent.
(name) sighed.
“There's nothing wrong with me.”
It wasn't entirely true.
But she wasn't ready to tell them.
She didn't want to.
How could she possibly explain it?
How could she explain that while everyone else was celebrating the victory of a nation, she thought of the same faces every year?
That the date didn't mean flags and music to her?
But a grief that had never been buried?
Then, in the evening, when her squadmates were already talking about the celebration, her patience finally ran out.
“You're not coming?” Ridoc asked.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Just because.”
“(name), you've been acting strange all day. What's wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“But there is something.”
(name) clenched her jaw.
“I said there's nothing wrong.”
“Then why are you acting like—”
“BECAUSE THERE'S NOTHING FOR ME TO CELEBRATE!”
Her voice cracked through the room with such force that everyone fell silent.
(name)'s chest rose and fell rapidly.
“There is nothing for me to celebrate,” she repeated, more quietly now. “And there isn't for the other marked ones either.”
Her squadmates stared at her in confusion.
(name) gave a bitter laugh.
“Did no one really think of it?”
Violet's questioning expression slowly disappeared.
(name) continued.
“For you, it's Reunification Day. The rebellion being crushed. Victory.”
Her voice trembled.
“For us, it's the day they executed our parents. Our families.”
Silence.
No one looked confused anymore.
(name) swallowed.
“So no. I don't want to go downstairs and celebrate.”
She turned and walked away.
No one tried to stop her.
________________________________________________________________
That evening, she remained alone in her room.
Outside, however, Basgiath celebrated.
The music could be heard even through the walls. Torches burned in the courtyard, soldiers and cadets talked, and laughter occasionally rose from the crowd. The wind carried the smell of food and smoke.
(name) stood by the window.
She didn't go downstairs.
She didn't want to.
Her room was quiet.
Too quiet.
She sat on her bed and stared at the candle flame for a long time.
Talmah's voice did not come.
She could feel the dragon's presence through the bond, but Talmah knew that (name) wanted to spend this evening alone.
And as the flame flickered before her, an old feeling suddenly washed over her.
The memory of home.
Not the day when everything ended.
But the day when she still didn't know that it would one day end.
When she had been only seven years old.
And Xaden was ten.
Back then, it had seemed natural that he was there.
That her older brother argued with her in the mornings and helped her in the evenings.
And then, suddenly, everything changed.
She didn't understand it from one day to the next.
She only noticed that the house had become different.
Emptier.
Quieter.
As if someone had taken something out of it that had made it a home.
(name) didn't understand.
She only knew that someone was missing.
And that ever since then, Xaden looked at her much more often as though he were checking to make sure she was still there.
And when he was ten, Xaden tried to fill a void that he was actually still far too young to understand.
One evening, (name) sat in front of the mirror, clutching a hairbrush in her hand.
“Xaden.”
“Hmm?”
“I can't brush it.”
The boy looked over.
“Give it to me.”
“You don't know how to braid hair.”
“I didn't say I did.”
“Then?”
Xaden shrugged.
“I'll learn.”
And he really did learn.
At first, the braid sat crooked.
Other times, he made it too tight.
Sometimes an entire strand was left out.
And (name) complained every single time.
“You're pulling.”
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
“(name), you need to sit still.”
“But it hurts.”
Xaden sighed.
“Fine. I'll start again.”
And he did.
Not because he could do anything about what was missing from their home.
He couldn't bring their mother back, but he tried to make up for it.
He knew (name) liked having her hair fixed.
So he learned.
Because when he was ten years old, that was all he could do.
Six years later, (name) closed her eyes.
And another memory surfaced.
She was still seven.
Xaden was ten.
She woke suddenly in the middle of the night.
Her room was dark.
Too dark.
And the house was too quiet.
(name)'s heart began beating faster.
She remembered that someone had already left.
And a single thought clung to her:
What if Dad leaves too?
She sat up.
Then climbed out of bed.
Barefoot, she ran down the hallway.
She didn't knock.
She simply opened the door to Fen's room.
Her father woke immediately.
“(name)?”
The little girl stopped in the doorway.
“Dad?”
Fen sat up.
“What happened?”
(name) didn't answer.
She simply walked over to him.
Fen lifted the blanket.
“Come here.”
(name) crawled in beside him.
“I can't sleep.”
“I can see that.”
For a few moments, they lay there in silence.
Then (name) spoke.
“Are you going to leave too, like Mom?”
Fen didn't answer for a long time.
Then he turned toward her.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I'm sure.”
“Promise?”
Fen squeezed her hand.
“I promise.”
(name) moved closer to him.
Her father stroked her hair.
“Go to sleep, sweetheart.”
And (name) believed him.
Back then, she still believed him.
In the next memory, she was ten.
Xaden was thirteen.
The Riorson house ballroom seemed enormous.
Afternoon light painted golden streaks across the marble floor, while old family banners hung from the walls. On one side of the room stood a dance instructor who had already been trying for at least twenty minutes to convince Xaden not to step on his sister's feet.
“One, two, three. Turn.”
Xaden turned.
(name) winced.
“Ow!”
“Sorry.”
“You stepped on me again!”
“Not on purpose.”
The dance instructor pressed his lips together.
“Young man, leading does not mean breaking your partner's feet.”
Xaden let out an annoyed breath.
“I don't understand why I have to learn this at all.”
His voice echoed through the ballroom.
“Sword fighting is much more useful.”
The dance instructor was just about to answer when a calm voice came from the other end of the room.
“Because one day you'll be the next Duke of Tyrrendor.”
Fen Riorson leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed.
Xaden turned toward him.
“And?”
“And a duke is expected to do more than know how to fight.”
Fen pushed himself away from the door.
“He needs to know how to negotiate. He needs to know how to behave in a ballroom. He needs to know how to lead in a way that makes his partner trust him.”
Xaden looked at his sister.
“At least she isn't complaining.”
(name) grinned.
“Because I like dancing.”
“Traitor.”
Fen laughed.
Then he turned toward the dance instructor.
“Perhaps I'd better show him myself.”
“Dad…”
“What do you think?”
Xaden reluctantly stepped aside.
Fen walked over to (name).
“Your hand.”
(name) lifted it.
Fen took it.
“Don't watch your feet. Watch me.”
“Okay.”
“One, two, three.”
(name) followed.
This time, they didn't step on each other's feet.
“See?”
“Yes.”
“Dancing is like leading.”
“How?”
“You don't follow yourself.”
Fen smiled.
“You watch the other person.”
At the time, (name) only laughed.
Xaden watched them from the edge of the room.
“That isn't fair.”
Fen turned toward him.
“What isn't fair?”
“You got it right on the first try.”
“It's a matter of practice.”
“Sword fighting is still easier.”
“I believe you.”
(name) laughed.
And for a few minutes, everything was simple.
Her.
Xaden.
Their father.
A family.
Then came the final memory.
The strongest.
The sharpest.
(name) was fourteen.
Xaden was seventeen.
And this was the day everyone else remembered as a celebration six years later.
(name) remembered the crowd.
The cold air.
The soldiers.
The dragons.
The faces of the people.
How small she had felt.
And Xaden.
She remembered how her brother had taken her hand.
(name) was trembling.
“Xaden…”
The boy pulled her closer.
“I’m here.”
“I don't want to see this.”
“I know.”
“I don't want to.”
Xaden wrapped his arms tightly around her.
“Then don't look.”
(name) tried not to look at her father, but it wasn't easy.
Xaden immediately turned her face toward him.
“Look at me.”
“But…”
“(name).”
His voice was more commanding now.
But not because he was angry.
Because he was afraid.
“Look at me, little star.”
(name)'s eyes found his.
Xaden's face was pale.
The tense muscles around his eyes revealed that he was just as frightened as she was.
Perhaps even more so.
He was seventeen.
And he already knew that in a matter of minutes, they would lose their father.
But (name) only saw that her brother was there.
“I'm scared.”
Xaden held her tighter.
“I know.”
“What will happen to us?”
Xaden didn't know.
But he couldn't say it.
Not to her.
“Everything will be okay.”
(name) shook her head.
“Don't lie.”
Xaden's eyes were clouded.
“All right.”
He closed his eyes for a moment.
“I'm scared too.”
Perhaps it was the first time (name) had ever heard him say that.
“But I'm here.”
(name) clung to his clothes.
“Don't let me go.”
“I won't.”
And for a while, he truly didn't.
Then everything ended.
And the world didn't stop.
That was the cruelest part.
People kept moving.
Soldiers kept giving orders.
The crowd slowly began to disperse.
And (name) was still clinging to Xaden.
She thought that at least he would remain.
Then came the moment when they were separated.
Separate paths.
Separate foster families.
Different parts of the continent.
(name) still remembered Xaden's face when they took him away from her.
The boy tried to look strong.
“I'll find you.”
(name) looked at him through her tears.
“Promise?”
Xaden nodded.
“I promise.”
Then they were separated.
They couldn't write to each other.
They couldn't meet.
They didn't know how the other was living.
They only knew that somewhere on the continent was someone who remembered the same family.
The same father.
The same life.
And (name) held on to that for six years.
Now, in the silence of her room, she opened her eyes again.
The candle flame was still burning.
Outside, laughter could be heard.
The celebration continued.
(name) wiped the tears from her face.
Six years.
She whispered.
Talmah's presence settled warmly against her mind.
Yes.
For six years, I thought all I had left were my memories.
But that isn't how it turned out.
(name) slowly smiled.
It wasn't a happy smile.
But it wasn't quite as painful anymore.
Because Talmah was right.
Xaden was there.
He was there again after six years.
Not as he had been before.
Back then, he had only been a seventeen-year-old boy.
Now he was a man whom the entire Quadrant watched with fear and respect.
But to (name), sometimes he was still the boy who couldn't properly braid her hair.
The brother who had promised he wouldn't let her go.
And perhaps now, for the first time, she truly understood that he had kept that promise after all.
It had just taken six years.
(name) stepped toward the window.
Outside, the lights danced across the dark courtyard.
“Happy Reunification Day, Dad.”
Her voice broke.
“I wish you could see where we are now.”
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“Xaden found me.”
She paused.
Then added very quietly:
“And I found him too.”
The candle flame flickered.
And the silence remained in the room.
But this time, it no longer felt empty.
Because six years ago, a family had been torn apart.
Six years later, two siblings had found each other again.
And although nothing could bring back what they had lost, (name) could finally allow herself not only to remember how her father died.
But also how he lived.
To remember that they had a home.
That they had a family.
That she had a brother who learned to braid hair because of her.
And that they had a father who always found time for them.
Those were things no one could ever take away from her.
